"He must have some good reason. It's his own business, after all," reflected Frank. "We can't force him to explain anything."
"He's in with them smugglers, that's what he is!" declared Mr. Kane, with conviction.
"I guess we had better be getting back home. Do you mind keeping him here? We can have him moved to a hospital."
The farmer shook his head.
"Smuggler or not, he stays here until he gets better. Nobody ever said Bill Kane turned a sick man out of doors, and nobody ever will. He stays here until he gets better."
"We'll come back in a day or so and see how he is getting along," Joe promised.
"He'll have the best of care here. Whether it's smugglin' or not that he's been mixed up in, it doesn't matter. My wife and I will look after him."
The Hardy boys arranged to have the row-boat returned to its mooring place, then took their leave of the good-hearted farmer and his wife and made their way out to the road. Then they went back to the place where they had left their motorcycles, and in a short while were speeding again on their return to Bayport.
"That fellow is certainly a queer stick," remarked Joe, as he and his brother motored toward home.
"I'll say he is!" answered Frank. '' There's something mighty queer about all this, and don't you forget it!"
It was mid-afternoon when they turned their motorcycles into the driveway beside the Hardy home, and after they had put the machines in the garage they went into the house. They found their father, Fenton Hardy, in his den just off the library. He was never too busy to talk to his sons, and when they came in he put down the papers he was studying and leaned back in his chair.
"Well, what have you two been up to today?" he inquired, smiling.
"We've had a real adventure, this time, dad," Frank told him. "We were out to the old Polucca place with some of the fellows."
"That's the haunted house, isn't it? See any ghosts?"
The boys looked at one another. "No, we didn't see any ghosts, exactly," said Joe, "But - "
"You don't mean to tell me you heard some!" Fenton Hardy threw back his head and laughed with delight.
"You may laugh; but some mighty queer things happened out there," insisted Joe.
Whereupon the brothers told their father of the strange experiences at the deserted farmhouse. But Mr. Hardy refused to take them seriously.
"Some of your school chums playing a joke on you," he said, dismissing the affair. "They'll be laughing their heads off about it right now."
"But how do you account for the tool boxes being robbed?"
"They just did that to make it a little more mysterious. Probably they will hand you back your tools at school on Monday, just to prove their story."
This aspect of the situation had not occurred to the boys. They began to look a bit sheepish. If it had been the work of practical jokers it was only natural that they would seek something definite whereby to prove the fact that they had been at the farmhouse.
"Gosh, we'll never hear the end of it, if that's the case," sighed Joe. "Oh, well, we'll just have to take it in good part. But we didn't tell you about what happened on the way home. Tell him about it, Frank."
"Another adventure?"
"A real one. No practical joke about this."
Frank thereupon told their father about the two motorboats in Barmet Bay, about the chase and the resulting explosion. He modestly underestimated their own part in the rescue of the victim of the wreck, but Fenton Hardy nodded his head in satisfaction as the story went on.
"Good work! Good work!" he muttered. "You saved the fellow's life, anyway. And it looks as though you've stumbled 011 a mysterious bit of business in that motorboat chase. What did the man say his name was?"
"Jones," answered Frank doubtfully.
Fenton Hardy raised his eyebrows. "Of course-there are lots of Joneses in the world. It might be his real name. But more than likely it isn't. "Would he tell you anything about the reason for the chase? Did you question him?"
"He wouldn't tell us anything at all. We made a few inquiries, but he said he couldn't explain."
"Still more mysterious," reflected the detective. "Do you think he will talk when he gets better?"
"I'm afraid not. He seemed quite determined not to tell us anything about himself or about the men who were chasing him."
"Don't you remember, Frank?" exclaimed Joe. "When we brought him into the house, just as he became conscious again. What was it he said?"
"Oh, yes! I had forgotten. He said, 'Snackley got me, the rat!' Whatever that meant."
"Snackley!" exclaimed Fenton Hardy, starting up. "Are you sure he said Snackley I Are you sure that was the name?"
"I'm certain. Aren't you, Joe?"
"Yes, that was the name, all right."
"Well that does give as something to work on," the detective said. "Probably you have never heard of Snackley, but I have."
"Who is he?" asked Frank.
"Ganny Snackley is a noted criminal. He is a smuggler-one of the leaders of a ring of smugglers who bring in opium and other drugs, from the Orient. Is it possible that he is bringing drugs into the country at Barmet Bay?"
CHAPTER VII
Bound and Gagged
The Hardy boys were astonished by this information. Their father, tapping a pencil quickly on the desk, leaned forward in his chair.
"You may have stumbled on some information of great value," he said to them quietly. "I need hardly tell you that it is best to keep it to yourself. If Ganny Snackley is operating in this vicinity it will be a great feather in our cap to catch him."
"It's an unusual name," remarked Frank. "I'll bet that's the Snackley our man meant, all right."
"And the farmer said there was smuggling going on in the Bay," Joe pointed out.
"Of course, there always has been more or less smuggling carried on in Barmet Bay. But it's been on a small scale. Ganny Snackley and his gang are international smugglers. The last I heard of him he was operating up on the New England coast. But probably things grew too hot for him and he moved down here. He seems to have dropped completely out of sight for the past six months or so."
"Perhaps this man Jones, at the farmhouse, will talk later on,"
"I'm going out there to interview him," said Fenton Hardy. "I'll wait a few days until he is feeling better. Of course the matter is one for the United States authorities, and as I haven't been assigned to the case I can't do very much. But perhaps I'll get some information I can use at some other time."
"Joe and I will go out tomorrow and see how he is getting along."
"Do so. But don't ask any questions. Don't let him think you are suspicious of him. Otherwise he'll be liable to sneak away as soon as he can, and we'll lose him altogether. He is under an obligation to you now because you saved his life, so it will seem quite natural for you to come back to see him. If you think he is recovering quickly, let me know and I'll go out right away and talk to him. If you think he will be there for several days yet, we'll just let him stay until he feels better."
"Perhaps he is a detective himself," Frank suggested.
"That had occurred to me," admitted Mr. Hardy. "If that's the case, I'll keep out of the affair. It's just probable that he is a Secret Service man who discovered Snackley's hang-out and was shot for his pains. That would explain why he wouldn't tell you anything about himself. But there's always the possibility that he is one of Snackley's enemies; and in that case I may be able to persuade him to talk.", Fenton Hardy asked the boys more questions about their adventure, but beyond a few trivial details they were unable to throw any further light on the mystery. However, it was decided that they should go back to the Kane farmhouse on the following day, which was Sunday, and report on the condition of the mysterious Mr. Jones.
With that they left their father, spending the rest of the afternoon in eager discussion and speculation concerning the strange events of the day. It had been an eventful holiday for them, and although they went over the incidents time and again they were unable to arrive at any solution of the puzzling affair in Barmet Bay. As for the happenings at the house on the cliff, they were inclined to accept their father's theory that some practical joker had been to blame.
Next morning, after church, they took the motorcycles out of the garage and prepared to ride out to the Kane farmhouse, there to make inquiry as to the condition of the man they had rescued on the previous day.
"Remember!" warned their father. ''Don't ask him too many questions or he'll get suspicious. Just find out how long he is likely to remain at the farm. If his injuries aren't very serious he'll be leaving in a day or so and we want to check up on him."
The boys promised to follow the detective's instructions. Unlike the day previous, this Sunday was clear and bright, and the rain of the afternoon before had laid the dust so that they enjoyed their journey out along the shore road.
"It would be a bad joke on us if Mr. Jones left before we got there," remarked Joe.
"I don't think he will. That wound in his side was enough the keep him laid up for a few days. And, anyway, he lost so much blood yesterday that it would take him a while to get back his strength."
"I hope he isn't a detective."
"Why?"
"It would be great if we could get a chance to do some work on this case ourselves. If Ganny Snackley is in this neighborhood and the government detectives don't know of it, we would help dad land him."
"It would be a great chance," admitted Frank. "But I think we'll find our friend Jones is a detective. That is, if we ever find out anything definite about him. Why else should Snackley and his men try to kill him? For there's no doubt they left him for dead."
"Perhaps he was another smuggler that they wanted to get rid of."
"Maybe. But I think it's most likely he is a Secret Service man."
At length they arrived at the lane leading from the main road to the farmhouse. As their motorcycles roared down the drive they watched for some sign of life about the place. But there was no one in the orchard or in the barnyard. No one came out of the house. The place appeared to be deserted and, although it was a warm day, the doors were closed.
"This is queer," remarked Frank, as they brought their motorcycles to a stop and left them in the shade of a large tree near the back of the house. "Mr. and Mrs. Kane couldn't have gone away and left Jones there alone, could they?"
The boys went up to the door and rapped.
There was no answer.
"Try the front door," Joe suggested.
After a number of futile efforts, they went to the front door of the farmhouse. But here, although they banged on the panels, there was likewise no response.
"They must have gone out," said Joe.
"But what about Jones? They wouldn't leave him here alone. I can't understand this."
They went to the back door and rapped again and again. Still there was no answer. Frank tried the doorknob and found that the door swung open.
"They didn't lock the place up, anyway," he said. "Let's go in. If Jones is upstairs we'll go up and see him. Mr. Kane won't mind. Probably they didn't expect callers today."
They went into the kitchen and here they were surprised by the scene of disorder that greeted their gaze. The previous day they had been impressed by the neatness of the room, for Mrs. Kane was evidently the soul of tidiness. Now the kitchen looked as though an earth-quake had shaken it.
Pots and pans were strewn about the floor. The table had been overturned. A chair lay upside down in a corner. A few cups and saucers lay in shattered bits beside the stove. The wood-box had been upset and the wood was scattered about. One window curtain had been partly torn from its fastenings.
"What on earth has happened here!" Frank exclaimed, in profound astonishment.
"Looks as if a cyclone came through."
"There's something queer about this! There's been a fight or a struggle of some kind here. Let's see what the rest of the house looks like."
The Hardy boys rushed into the next room.
There an unexpected sight met their eyes.
Mr. and Mrs. Kane were seated in chairs in the middle of the room. They were unable to move, unable to speak, scarcely able to make a struggle.
The farmer and his wife were bound and gagged, tied to their chairs!
CHAPTER VIII
The Stolen Witness
Swiftly, the Hardy boys rushed over to Mr. and Mrs. Kane and began to release them. The farmer and his wife had been trussed up by strong ropes and they had been so well gagged that they had been unable to utter a sound. It was only a matter of a few minutes, however, before their bonds were loosened and the gags removed.
"Thank goodness!" exclaimed Mrs. Kane, with a sigh of relief, as the gag was taken away. Her husband, spluttering with rage, rose from his chair and hurled the ropes to one side.
"What happened?" asked the boys, in amazement.
For a moment Mr. and Mrs. Kane were unable to give a coherent account of their experience, owing to the strain they had undergone, but at last the farmer stumbled over to the window and pointed down the shore road.
"They went that way!" he roared. "That way I Follow them!"
"Who?"
"The rascals that tied us up. They took Jones away with them."
"Kidnapped him?"
"Yes-kidnapped him! There were four of them. They broke in here and tied up my wife and me. Then they went upstairs and carried Jones away with them. They dumped him into an automobile and made a getaway."
"Four men!"
"Four of the ugliest looking scoundrels you ever laid eyes on."
"How long ago?" asked Frank quickly.
"They didn't leave ten minutes ago. if you had been here just a few minutes earlier you •would have met the whole crowd of them." The farmer was angry and excited. "But there's time yet. You can catch 'em. They went down the shore road."
"Come on, Joe!" shouted Frank. "Let's chase them. They've kidnapped Jones."
Joe needed no urging. The Hardy boys left the farmer and his wife rubbing their chafed wrists and ankles and hastened out of the house over to their motorcycles. Within a few seconds the staccato roar of the powerful machines broke out on the still air, and then, they went rocking and swaying down the lane out on to the shore road.
"Some high-handed proceeding, I'll say," yelled Frank, to make himself heard above the roaring of the motorcycles.
"Those rascals ought to be in prison," returned his brother.
The boys followed in the direction the farmer had indicated. Frank then recollected that just before they had turned in toward the Kane farm he had seen a cloud of dust down the main road, evidently caused by a speeding automobile, but he had thought nothing of it at the time, for traffic along the shore highway occasioned no comment, especially on Sunday.
"If we had only been a little earlier!" he groaned.
"We'll catch up to them. They haven't much of a start. Maybe we can follow them to some town and have the whole gang arrested."
The motorcycles roared along at top speed. Both the Hardy boys were skillful drivers, and for a while Frank was able to follow the course of the car they were pursuing by watching the fresh tread mark in the dust. But when the road came to the place where it intersected with the road leading up to the Morton farm the tread mark became lost, as evidently another car had turned out of the side road in the meantime and obliterated the fresh tread here and there.
They passed the lane that led into the Polucca place and continued On down the shore road until they came to a hilltop that commanded a view of a wide stretch of country. Here they could see the road winding and dipping for a distance of more than a mile, until it was lost to sight in a grove of trees. But there was no sign of the automobile they were seeking.
"They've given us the slip, I guess," said Frank, as he brought his motorcycle to a stop.
"They had a good start and they weren't letting the grass grow under their feet, either. Think we should keep on?"
"There's not much use. We'd better go back to the farmhouse and hear what Mr. and Mrs. Kane have to say about this."
They turned their motorcycles about and headed back toward the farm. On the way they discussed the mysterious kidnapping.
"Evidently those men in the other motorboat saw us rescue Jones, or else they heard that he had been taken to the farmhouse," remarked Joe. "They must be desperate characters."
"I wonder what will happen to poor Jones now," said Frank gravely. "They tried to kill him in the first place. This time–"
"Do you think they'll murder him!"
"It looks like that. They didn't show him any mercy out in the bay. They left him for dead that time. Now they'll make sure of it."
Joe shuddered. "If they were going to kill him they'd hardly go to all that bother of kidnapping him," he pointed out. "Perhaps they just want to keep him out of the way. Perhaps they were afraid he would tell about their chasing him and setting fire to his motorboat."
"They were mighty anxious to get their hands on him, when they would come to the house in broad daylight and tie up Mr. and Mrs. Kane. Gee, it's lucky we came along when we did or They might have been left there for hours without being able to get loose."
When they got back to the farmhouse they found that the farmer and his wife had somewhat recovered from their harrowing experience, although they were still unnerved. Mrs. Kane, ever the true housewife, was already beginning to tidy up the kitchen and living room, for the intruders had upset everything in the struggle.
"We lost them," said Frank.
Kane nodded.
"I didn't think you'd catch them," he said. "They left here in too much of a hurry. But I hoped you would. They had a big, high-powered car and they didn't waste any time getting away."
"There were four of them, you said!"
"Four. Ugly villains."
"What did they look like?"
"I didn't get much of a chance to see. It all happened too quick. One of them came to the door-he was a tall chap with a thin face-and asked if I was looking after a man who was almost drowned yesterday. I said that I was, so he told me he had come to take him away, that he was a brother of the fellow. I got kind of suspicious, and asked him his name. But in the meantime I had stepped outside the door, and before I knew it, some one jumped at me from behind. I put up a fight as best as I could, but the others came at me from around the corner of the house where they had been hidden and before I knew it I was tied up. Then they tied up my wife and left us in the livin' room while they went upstairs."
"Did Jones put up a fight when they took him away!"
"He tried to. He hollered for help, but of course I couldn't do nothin' and he was too weak to fight much himself. They carried him downstairs and put him in the automobile. Then they drove away."
"There must be more to this affair than we imagine," reflected Frank. "It's getting serious when they break into a private home like this."
"You bet it's gettin' serious!" exclaimed the farmer. "It'll be mighty serious for them if they try it again." He motioned to the table where a shotgun was lying. "I've got that gun loaded and waitin' for the next gang that tries anything1 like that. I only wish I'd had it ready this morning."
"I don't think you'll have any cause to use it," Frank said reassuringly. "It was Jones they were after. They won't bother you again."
"They'd better not."
"I think the best thing we can do, Joe, is to go right back to Bayport and let dad know about this."
"Good idea. We can't do anything by staying here."
"You boys said yesterday that your name was Hardy, eh?" said the farmer. "Ain't any relation to Fenton Hardy, are you?"
"He's our father."
"The detective?"
The Hardy boys nodded assent.
"Good!" exclaimed Kane. "You go right back and tell him about this. If any one can get to the bottom of this affair it's him. I hate to see them rascals getting away scot-free."
Frank and Joe bade good-bye to the farmer and his wife and returned to their motorcycles. They promised to call again at the Kane farm as soon as they had any further information, and Mr. Kane, in turn, gave his promise to notify them if there were any further trace of the kidnappers or of the mysterious Jones.
When they returned to Bayport the boys lost no time in reaching home. Fenton Hardy was enjoying one of his rare afternoons of leisure in reading, but he put his book aside when the boys rushed into the library.
"Did Mr. Jones talk?" he asked quickly, seeing by their expressions that something unusual had happened.
"We didn't have a chance to see him!" exclaimed Joe. ' «' What's the matter? Did he clear out?"
"He was kidnapped!"
"Kidnapped!"
"Four men broke into the farmhouse and took him away," said Frank hurriedly.
Then he proceeded to tell the story of the strange events of the morning at the Kane farm, prompted occasionally by Joe.
Mr. Hardy was deeply interested.
"There's only one theory I can think of," he said, at last. "This Jones, or whatever his name is, must have belonged to a gang and either squealed on them or threatened to do so. They tried to get rid of him and he escaped in the motorboat, but they thought they had finished him in the explosion. Then they found out that you had rescued him, so they went to the farmhouse and took him away before he had a chance to talk."
"Do you think they are smugglers!"
"Probably. While you were away this morning I called up one of the government authorities in the city, and he told me that they believe smugglers are operating in Barmet Bay on a big scale."
"Did you tell him about Snackley?"
Mr. Hardy smiled. "Not yet. That information, I thought I would keep to myself for the time being. But I wonder if Snackley can be here. It begins to look like it. He is the kind who wouldn't stop at anything from kidnapping to murder."
"Do the authorities suspect him of being around here?"
"I imagine so. The man I was talking to mentioned the fact that the smugglers they are after are in the drug line. And Snackley is king of the dope smugglers on the Atlantic coast."
"Gee! I wish we could land him."
"Of course," said Fenton Hardy, "no one has asked us to work on this case, and I don't believe in working for nothing–"
"You mean you won't help?" asked Joe, in disappointment.
Fenton Hardy's eyes twinkled as he went on.
"I don't believe in working for nothing," he repeated. "But if we ever caught this man Snackley it would be worth our while."
"Why!"
"The reward."
"Is there a reward offered for him!"
"There has been a standing reward of five thousand dollars offered for Snackley's capture for some time. And if he is operating in Barmet Bay, as I suspect, it's just possible that we might be able to collect that reward."
"Good!" exclaimed Frank. '' Let's go after it!"
CHAPTER IX
The Strange Message
The Hardy boys expected that the next day would find them busy on a more detailed investigation of the circumstances surrounding the mysterious kidnapping. But, to their surprise, when they came down to breakfast next morning they found that their father had gone away.
Mrs. Hardy could not enlighten them.
"He went out early this morning and didn't say when he would be back. But he didn't take any baggage with him, so I imagine he hasn't gone very far. He'll probably be back some time today."
Mrs. Hardy was accustomed to the comings and goings of her husband, and nothing surprised her. She realized that his profession demanded that he do many things that were mysterious enough on the surface but reasonable enough when the time came to explain them. But the boy were taken aback, for they had looked forward to seeing their father in the morning and had hoped that he would lay a plan of campaign before them. They went to school in disappointment.
On the way they met Callie Shaw and Iola Morton, two girls who were particular friends of the boys. Callie Shaw, a brown-eyed, brown-haired girl was an object of special enthusiasm with Frank, who was apt to cast an appreciative eye upon the other sex, while lola, a plump, dark girl, a sister of Chet Morton's, was "all right, as a girl," in Joe's reluctant opinion.
Chet had told his sister about the affair at the Polucca place on the previous Saturday, and she, in turn, had told Callie.
"Well, how are the ghost-hunters this morning!" asked Callie.
"Fine," replied Frank, with a smile.
"What a brave bunch of boys you all are!" exclaimed the girl. "Running away from an empty house!"
"That house wasn't empty!" put in Joe warmly. "I suppose you think our motorcycle tools walked away!"
"Somebody played a pretty good practical joke on you. Just wait till you get to school. Whoever played that trick will be sure to tell everybody."
"Oh, well, we can stand it. If Chet Morton hadn't been with us at the time I would have blamed him. It's like one of his pet ideas."
"He can prove an alibi this time," said Iola "He was right with you, and by the way he talked when he got home. I think he was as badly frightened as any one."
But when the boys reached school they found that although news of their experience at the house on the cliff had preceded them, no one was laying claim to having originated the joke. Chet and the other boys had told of the escapade, but although they momentarily expected that some practical jester would come forward and take credit for the whole affair, nothing of the sort happened, and when noon came it was as much a mystery as ever.
"I'm beginning to think it wasn't a joke at all," admitted Joe, on the way home. "Believe me, if it had been a trick played on us the fellow who did it wouldn't have lost any time coming around to have the horselaugh.''
"It was a little too well done to be a joke. I think some one started this ghost rumor just to keep people away from the Polucca place."
"If everybody gets the same reception we got, I don't blame 'em for staying away. What with weird yells and shrieks, with walls falling in and tool boxes being robbed, it's a mighty active ghost they have on the job."
"I wonder-could it have anything to do with the smugglers, Joe!"
The Hardy boys looked at one another.
"There's a thought!" exclaimed Joe. "We had two mighty strange things happen to us on the same day. Perhaps they have something to do with each other."
"It might be only a coincidence. But when you come to think of it, that house on the cliff would be a mighty handy hang-out for smugglers if they could keep strangers away. And what better way than by starting a story that the place is haunted?"
"Gosh, I never thought of that! I wonder what dad thinks of it."